This is not a goodbye

On my 10th birthday, I was given a basketball hoop that we hung on the wall. I played all the time, and what I loved most was playing “21,” which basically involves trying to score exactly 21 points before the other players.
At home, there were always a lot of people around, and almost always someone willing to play for a bit. But I enjoyed it so much that I often found myself playing alone, shooting at the hoop. That’s when I realized it was much more fun to play with someone else, to make it meaningful to try to reach 21. So, I came up with the idea that I could play as two players, and to make it real, I started by giving that “other” player a name.
“Now it’s Ramiro’s turn,” I would say to myself, and when it was time to switch, I’d remind myself, “Now it’s Tomás’ turn.” Although it was hard to “separate” myself, at times I found myself in particular situations that made me think and make decisions. If I score now, Tomás wins, but what if I wanted Ramiro to win at that moment? No, when I “am” Tomás, I really have to be him. And Tomás isn’t selfish at all, but he’s not going to let himself lose just so the “other” one doesn’t feel bad. Ramiro is more immature…

Over time, two very different personalities began to develop. They grew up alongside each other, but separately. It started with basketball, but then, whenever I had doubts, Tomás would “appear” to give his opinion. By the time I turned 18, each one had their own voice. For a long time, to avoid feeling “weird,” I explained that it was a graphic representation of the mind and the heart. That’s why Tomás is more rational and Ramiro more emotional. The years passed peacefully, they functioned very well together. Ramiro would dream about the trips, but Tomás would plan them. They constantly argued but loved each other dearly. They always listened to each other and knew when to step aside, so the other could take control.

When I arrived in Berlin, I immediately fell in love with the city. It was the first city where I felt as comfortable as I did in Tucumán. Both Tomás and Ramiro were overstimulated. One night, as I was walking, both of them were talking at the same time, over each other, without listening. They both had so many ideas, things to do, and steps to take, but they raised their voices until nothing made sense anymore. Suddenly, amid the noise, a third voice came through clearly. “Enough, both of you!”

I stopped in my tracks, and all I could hear was the sound of passing cars. Who the hell said that? I realized that the voice didn’t come from “outside,” and it answered me: “Yes, there are several of us in here, but we had already decided that you two would take control. You’ve been doing a great job. But if you don’t get back in sync, we’ll all have to step in, and this will get out of hand.”

That was the first and last time I heard that voice. It may sound strange, but I was glad to know they were there. That we were a lot again, just like at home.